"Let me in," it demands.
Lana can't see it - not most of it, anyway - through the peephole of her apartment door. One long, long arm swings up to cover her view. She sees pale skin stretched too tightly over bone before it cups a misshapen palm over the tiny window and turns everything black. Something slams bodily against the barrier, and she stumbles back a few feet, her breath stuttering in her throat. The door is sturdy. Not sturdy enough. Not to keep everything out, she thinks. It holds.
"Let me in." The door is thick, but the voice carries through it clearly.
Hoping it will give up and leave if she can pretend no one is here, she grinds her teeth until a headache blooms around her temples and keeps her breathing as quiet as she can.
Something scrapes down the length of the door, and in spite of herself, she inhales sharply and loudly before moving further from the door. Something presses against the other side of the door, and the frame bows inward. Just slightly. Just for a moment.
"Let me in."
She takes a deep breath, another step back.
"No," she responds. "Go away."
The thing on the other side of the door stops rustling. She tries not to faint as her breathing picks up rapidly. There is no sound. Lana takes a step forward, back toward the door, needing to look through the peephole again and try to see what it is doing.
A thin, long arm slides impossibly through the gap at the bottom. Fingers like spiders' legs start twitching and turning until they make contact with the doorframe. Then they begin climbing, stretching up the door frame toward the deadbolt. She is frozen where she stands, too far away to make it to the lock first.
Discolored, peeling nails reach the bolt and tap once against the metal. "Then I'll let myself in."